


Faith

by ValidEmail (orphan_account)



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Gay, Modern AU, Multi, References to Homophobia, and abuse, everyone's happy besides everyone outside the tkf, he's also spanish, whizzer is hiv positive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-03-30 14:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13953753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ValidEmail
Summary: Whizzer Brown hasn't seen his father since he was twelve, peering out the back window of his mother's pickup as they left him in the dust for Oregon. Twenty-three years in the future, and Whizzer's got a (kinda) kid of his own. When Whizzer's father appears out of nowhere in a sour attempt to reconnect with his long-lost son, Whizzer must, in turn, deal with both the recurring memories that come with his father's return into his life and the struggle of whether or not to let go of the past.





	1. Talkin' In Your Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ ----
> 
> okay, wow!! my plans have changed. almost instantly after i posted wbms i lost interest. this one i like a lot better. so i'll post this, one chapter every two or three days, and then the mcpriceley one!! get ready!! love you - annie
> 
> also, whizzer is of spanish descent, because his grandmother was spanish and his grandfather had immigrated from israel to america. his mother still taught him spanish since she mostly identified with the spanish culture, and he was raised half-jewish since his father was not jewish in the slightest. just a little FYI :)

_    Whizzer Brown could remember the days he’d sit beside his mother on his grandparents’ front porch and watch the sun plunge into the limits of the horizon, disappearing as the stars began to litter the slowly darkening sky. She would clutch him close to her chest, almost afraid, as if once she let go he would run off, or disappear. Her tan skin contrasted with his, as his father had been pale. At least, that’s what he gathered from the short glimpses of blurry polaroids that were buried inside his mother’s jewelry box. He remembered giggling wildly, high-pitched and crazed, as his mother would blow raspberries on his stomach and whisper her dreams to his devoted child mind. _

 

_ “One day, bubeleh, you’ll get all the girls,” His Bubbe would tease him around the neighbors when they decided to visit the small family, pinching at his cheeks while his mother’s AA friends cooed over his small ties and scruffy hair. His mother usually cut it for him, as they were too poor to afford a barber, but she did a good job. Whizzer made sure to reassure her of that.  _

 

_ When he was seven, he marveled at the hot weather of Caliente, Nevada, and the various languages he’d hear people speak. The children at his school did not speak Yiddish like he had expected them to, as his mother and his grandparents spoke occasionally using that language, but they spoke English, and Spanish, so that was good enough for him. On April 3rd, the day he had learned how to add ten plus twelve, which had been something he was struggling with, his mother received a letter in the mail from his father.  _

__

_ After a quite loud and terrifying argument with his grandparents, resulting in his mother shooting his Bubbe the finger before packing up her belongings, including the jewelry box, his mother stormed off with Whizzer from Nevada in tow to a city he had never heard of before.  _

 

_ “It’s pronounced Houston, Whiz, Houston,” His mother explained to him as they hitched a ride in the back of a rather gruff but nice older man, her hair covering half of her face in the wind. “It’s in Texas. That’s not that far from Nevada.” _

 

_ “Why are we leaving Nevada?” He demanded, eyes flashing with worry as his mother pushed back some of his growing hair. “I liked Nevada. The sunsets were pretty.” Whizzer folded his arms across his chest defiantly, pouting as he shifted in his seat. Whizzer’s mother let out a sigh, holding her hair out of her own face while she spoke to him. _

 

_ “The sunsets in Houston are just as pretty, I promise you,” She told him tiredly, Whizzer staring up at her distrustfully. Slowly, he unfolded his arms and eyed his mother’s stance carefully.  _

 

_ “Do you pinky promise?” He snarkily questioned, raising an eyebrow, the Whizzer charm that would pop up more and more throughout his childhood coming into view here. His mother gave him a small smile, despite never having been to Houston, and held out her pinkie for him to shake.  _

 

_ “Yes, Whiz, I pinky promise,” She told him. Whizzer reached up with his own pinky then and intertwined the two fingers. His missing and chipped teeth then presented her with a grin, only one pristine adult tooth hanging in the midst of the baby ones. She pulled him close to her chest, similar to those times staring out into the sunset, though at this moment she buried her worried face into his side, cuddling him instead of watching the sun go down. _

 

**8:00 AM, FRIDAY MORNING**

 

   There was a cold foot against his leg when thirty-five-year-old Whizzer Brown finally awoke in his Manhattan apartment. Of course, even with a full night’s sleep underneath the large comforter he had kept since his first move to the city, along with the quilt knitted by both Cordelia and his mother, Marvin’s feet were like ice cubes. Slithering away, he withdrew his leg from his husband’s reach, and, flailing his arms in vain, flopped off the bed onto the even colder hardwood flooring of their shared bedroom. Cursing under his breath, he stumbled to his feet and yanked open the heavy curtains blocking a large, floor to ceiling window right beside their bed. The sunlight, along with the muffled noises of the New York City streets below filtered through the glass, and Marvin let out a sleepy grumble from his spot in the bed. Whizzer watched him with a smile as Marvin shifted around, twisting so that his face was away from the window, and pulled the blankets over his head. After a moment, the taller of the two clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth disapprovingly and reached down to nudge his leg as he strolled out of the bedroom. 

 

   “Come on, it’s Friday,” Whizzer announced in passing, grabbing his bathrobe off one of the nearby hooks. Marvin mumbled something into his spit-soaked pillow inaudibly. Letting out a chuckle at the rock of a man, Whizzer sped out of the bedroom whilst tugging on the bathrobe, hurrying out into the kitchen to peer at the light beginning to stream through their windows. He turned on the stove swiftly and went searching through their various, overfilled cabinets for the special pancake he had his mother order for him from a place up in the hills of New Hampshire. Retrieving that, he set it on the counter, twisting their radio on just as his foot went to open one of the bottom cabinets. 

 

   “-It’s close to Christmas, which means it’s a time for family,” One of the various ads that played in the morning began, Whizzer snickering as he attempted in vain to pick up a bag of flour with just his toes. Deciding on using his fingers instead, a reliable choice, he scooped it up, and set it beside the pancake mix. “Why not bring them together with our perfect mash-and-gravy recipe?” 

 

   “Mashed potato flavoring mixed in with that sweet, perfect taste of gravy already. What a wonderful concoction,” Marvin joined in with the radio woman’s voice as he emerged from their cave of a bedroom, Whizzer shooting him a thankful grin. Usually, on days when Marvin had off, like this one, he’d sleep in until two. “God, just thinking about gravy makes me want to throw up.” Whizzer hummed in agreement, opening the fridge to find the needed eggs and various ingredients to whip up some pancakes. 

 

   “Good, ‘cause I forgot to buy gravy at the grocery store yesterday,” Whizzer joked, finally finding eggs and setting them by the rest of his ingredients. “Want pancakes?” Marvin smiled dopily at him, letting out a guttural, gruff laugh due to the lack of voice he had given while sleeping.

 

   “That’s not all I want,” He continued to laugh, playfully slapping Whizzer on the ass while he drifted over to change the radio station. “We’ve got a day off…” He began to walk his fingers on the granite counter towards the mixing bowl Whizzer was holding. His husband whacked his hand away with a tutting noise.

 

   “Not until you put away all the Hanukkah stuff,” He ordered patiently, pouring the different ingredients into the bowl as if he was programmed to. He had made the recipe hundreds of times before, though, so it was understandable. “Also, don’t forget, your son is coming over today.” Marvin scoffed and slid up behind him, his arms curling around Whizzer’s waist before the other could protest. 

 

   “He’s your son, too,” Marvin argued, resting his chin on Whizzer’s bathrobe-covered shoulder. “Why are you still wearing this bathrobe?” Whizzer rolled his eyes as his husband kissed the bit of neck that was showing, since the clunky bathrobe he was wearing covered up practically all of his skin. 

 

   “Someone’s needy,” Whizzer commented, reaching one non-ingredient covered hand to pet Marvin’s curls. “What, like last night wasn’t enough?” Marvin let out a dramatic groan, biting down on a piece of Whizzer’s skin, that connected his chin to his neck. The taller’s breath hitched involuntarily, as it usually did whenever Marvin was within his presence. Despite having been married for nine years, he still got breathy around him. 

 

   “Come on, Whiz,” Marvin pleaded into Whizzer’s ear, voice hot and low. “We have a day off. When do we ever both have the same day off? Hardly ever.” Whizzer pursed his lips, contemplating for a moment as Marvin smeared his lips lazily around the skin underneath his ear, one hand still tangling with Marvin’s curls.

 

   “A tempting proposition,” Whizzer agreed and wiped off his other hand with the towel hanging off the grip on the oven. “One that I’ll have to get back to you on. How about Tuesday?” Marvin’s mouth fell open, Whizzer feeling his jaw against his shoulder. He stifled a giggle.

 

   “Nah, sorry,” Marvin swung him around so that they were facing each other, and leaned back against the island behind him. “This is urgent business,” Whizzer smirked knowingly, the face he always made when Marvin replied to his teasing. 

 

   “Is it, huh?” Whizzer replied, leaning closer so that their noses bumped together. His hands slid up Marvin’s arms, and over his shoulders loosely. “I guess I’ll have to cut out some time in my schedule for it-” Marvin burst into one of his signature toothy grins, and Whizzer leaned forwards, barely drifting their lips together. Marvin wound his hands to grab his husband’s ass, who let out a squeak and slumped forwards into the kiss. They made out sloppily in their kitchen, for the rest of the world to see through their uncovered, large living room windows, like teenagers without a care in the world. The only other noise echoing through the apartment was the low rumble of the radio, playing some forgotten eighties tune. Whizzer pulled back after his watch beeped around his wrist, clunky and annoying. He pecked Marvin’s lips once more, leaving the other man well-dazed.

 

   “-After we finish breakfast and you tidy the apartment so that Jason doesn’t have to arrive at the sight of what looks like a tornado aftermath,” Whizzer finished his previous sentence, wiggling out of Marvin’s hold to go back to making pancakes. He hid his cheeky smile with a duck of his head as Marvin muttered something to himself, but complied, starting for the window to carefully put away the menorah. 

 

**6:00 PM, FRIDAY EVENING**

 

   A clatter from the newly cleaned kitchen caused Whizzer’s eyes to flicker around the surrounding area, though he didn’t move from his perch on the couch. Shaking his head, he readjusted his reading glasses and went back to peering at the current page. ‘After he and Rachel were done talking, Jud put on his light coat - the day had clouded up and the wind had begun to blow - and crossed the road to Louise’s house, pausing on his side of the road to look carefully for trucks before crossing. It was the trucks that had been the cause of all this. The damned trucks-” Another clatter. Letting out a huff, Whizzer’s head whipped back up, lips firmly pressed together.

 

   “Who’s there? Marv, I swear to God, if you’re messing with me, I’ll cut off your head and hang it off a goddamn pole,” Whizzer swore, and set his book down on the coffee table beside him, but not before carefully bookmarking the page. He stood, and stormed into the kitchen, to find no one. Rolling his eyes behind his large glasses, he stalked down the hallway and eyed the closed bathroom door at the complete end of the hallway. Muffled water and singing was coming behind it. Taking a deep breath of preparation for the complete embarrassment that was his husband, he pushed it open lightly with three fingers, and was greeted by the fuzzy shadow of his partner showering while singing ‘Let’s Get It On.’ Whizzer furrowed his eyebrows, and shut the door behind himself, wandering over to the fogging up mirror. He set his glasses down on the sink, before reaching over to rap his knuckles against the glass of their shared shower. Behind the door, Marvin jumped at least ten feet in the air. 

 

   “Whiz?” He called out fearfully, Whizzer letting out a sigh, his eyes rolling as they usually did. He turned away from the shower, grimacing at his messy hair in the mirror beside him.

 

   “Who else would it be?” He replied distractedly, reaching up with his hands to attempt to fix the mop on his head.

 

   “Did my wonderful singing pull on your heartstrings enough to get you to come in here?” Marvin questioned, a tinge of hopefulness in the back of his voice. Whizzer rolled his eyes once again, though a smile was quickly appearing on his face.

 

   “Well, I guess we didn’t really revisit the idea of sex before Jason gets here,” Whizzer put blatantly, and waltzed up to the shower door. Marvin opened it, a fresh wave of steam pulling over the other’s features. “Mm. You’re beautiful.” His husband split into a lopsided, excited grin.

 

   “I was gonna make a mirror joke, but I can’t come up with a good one,” Marvin admitted, still partly hiding his body, one hand curled around the edge of the glass door. “You’re too stunning.” Whizzer’s eyes crinkled at the edges, and he leaned in to kiss Marvin when the doorbell rang. 

 

   “Whizzer and Marvin Cohen, if you are having sex on your couch, I’m going to be very pissed at you,” Trina’s familiar voice boomed muffledly throughout the entire apartment, and Whizzer let out a sigh. Marvin hung his head.

 

   “Shit, I forgot,” Whizzer murmured, and pressed a quick kiss to Marvin’s hairline. “Finish your shower. We’re having a family movie night tonight!” Marvin’s mouth moved to speak, but he wasn’t fast enough for his rushing husband. 

 

   “What? That means-” He cut himself off with a moan, not one of pleasure, but one of pure agony. He shut the shower door and slid down into the tub to lament the loss of sex with his husband. Meanwhile, Whizzer raced to the door and yanked it open with a warm smile to greet his family members.

 

   “Hey, guys!” He cheerfully spoke, and gave Trina a hug, which she gladly returned, although there was a suspicious expression on her face, as though she suspected he had actually been having sex with Marvin. “Come in, come in. I just gotta make the popcorn.” She strolled through, Mendel also hugging Whizzer. 

 

   “I’ll never get over how...interesting the art in your apartment is, Whiz,” Mendel commented dryly as he wandered in after his wife, eyeing the cleverly disguised dicks-as-flowers painting like he usually did whenever he visited. Whizzer bent down to embrace Jason, who barreled into him, though he wasn’t heavy. He was fourteen, and a stick. Charlotte and Cordelia bustled through next, Cordelia untying her scarf as she did so, despite the fact that they lived across the hall. Charlotte, though she was shorter than Whizzer, yanked his shirt down so that she could kiss his cheek. Cordelia patted Whizzer’s curls absentmindedly, in such a Cordelia way he didn’t question it. Instead, he shut the front door with a slam and watched with a full heart as his family gathered in his living room, chattering excitedly. 

 

   “We brought ‘My Cousin Vinny,’” Charlotte announced proudly, producing the DVD case as she bent over to slid it into their player. “Because Cordelia wants to make out with Ralph Macchio.” Trina winced. 

 

   “Are you sure that movie appropriate for Jason?” She whispered urgently to Charlotte, who cackled in response.

 

   “If you think he shouldn’t be exposed to excessive cursing, you certainly shouldn’t let him come over every weekend to spend two days with Whizzer,” Cordelia joked, she and her wife high-fiving. She scowled playfully down at the other woman, then. “Also, I do not want to make out with Ralph Macchio! I want to make out with the younger version of him. There’s a difference.” Whizzer snickered, boiling some water as he poured the popcorn kernels into a pot he had set on the stove. 

 

   “Don’t worry, Delia,” He called out with a laugh. “We all do.” He placed the pot cover onto it so that the kernels wouldn’t go flying. 

 

   “Where’s dad?” Jason asked his other stepfather, who wandered over and plopped down on the couch beside his son. 

 

   “In the shower,” Whizzer replied showering, souring at the memory of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to have sex with Marvin until Monday. Just because he enjoyed teasing Marvin didn’t mean he wasn’t also slightly punished by the inability for sex. 

 

   “Were you there with him?” Charlotte questioned blatantly, curling up beside her wife, who threw a blanket around them. Mendel scrunched his nose, Trina hiding a few well-mannered giggles behind one hand. Whizzer shook his head, leaning back in his seat.

 

   “Nah,” He responded with a shrug. His lesbian neighbor sent him a look. “I was going to be, though.” Marvin emerged from the hallway then, drying his hair with a towel, though he was already in his usual outfit - plain red sweatshirt and baggy jeans. 

 

   “Marv, honey, what I have I told you?” Whizzer grunted as he got up. “Those jeans do nothing for your ass.” His husband grinned at him while he passed, Whizzer slapping at the fabric for proof. Marvin grabbed onto his wrist pulling him back.

 

   “My ass does everything by itself,” He smiled, nuzzling their noses together. “Also, did’ya hear that grunt you made when you got up from the couch?”

 

   “I think everyone in the world did,” Trina muttered to her husband, causing the lesbians to burst into laughter, Whizzer frowning at his family jokingly.

 

   “You’re getting old, sweetheart,” Marvin lifted up Whizzer’s wrist, curling their hands together. Whizzer pecked his lips softly, Jason letting out a groan at the sight.

 

   “You guys are so gross,” He crowed as he flipped his face into the nearest pillow so that he wouldn’t have to watch the affections. The rest of the family returned to chuckling in the direction of the boy, and Whizzer’s face lit up at the sound of popcorn popping.

 

   “Almost ready!” He cheered, snapping out of his daze that Marvin always put him in, sliding over on his socks into the kitchen. “Who wants it with salt?” Seven hands shot up, as did his own. Snickering, he checked the pot. The phone rang, at the same time the buzzer did as well. 

 

   “I’ll get the phone,” Whizzer told Marvin, who was already walking over to check the buzzer. Whizzer scooped up the landline, which they only used to contact his mother since she refused to get a cell phone or his cell phone number. 

 

   “Hello?” He spoke into the phone, right as Marvin pressed on the buzzer to contact their landlord downstairs, Mary. 

 

   “Mary, who’s down there?” He asked, Whizzer smiling as his mother greeted him in return happily as if she wasn’t expecting him to answer.

 

   “Ay, mama!” He cheered. “What do you need?” Marvin furrowed his eyebrows as static came in reply to his question before Mary’s old voice crackled through the speaker.

 

   “An older man who tells me he’s Micah’s father. He buzzed your door, but as far as I know, no one named Micah lives with you,” Marvin’s face went slack and pale, still holding onto the buzzer button to speak to the woman below. “Marvin?” Whizzer, however, had not heard a word. He was still speaking to his mother.

 

   “What do you mean, my father’s back?” He whispered urgently into the phone, the rest of the family now turning to watch the two men in their separate conversations. “Oi! That fucking piece of shit dickbag is not allowed to barge back in and run my mama’s life…” He drifted off into a mix of Spanish and English, his mother angrily replying in kind. 

 

   “Marvin?” Mary asked again, and Marvin let his finger pop off the button to speak to her. There was absolute silence in the room, besides the exploding Whizzer in the corner, now only speaking in rapid-fire Spanish. There was a knock on the apartment door, and Whizzer paused, his face just as pale as his husband’s. They stood there for a moment, Whizzer’s mother still audible from the phone he was clutching in a shaking hand. There was another knock, and all eyes drifted towards the piece of wood. Whizzer set the phone down, eyes blown wide. Another knock, this time more urgent than the last. The tall man’s attention was caught by the hand slipping into his own. He glanced over to see Marvin, who smiled tightly at him, his other hand reaching for the doorknob.

 

   “Whatever happens, we’ll do it together,” Marvin promised his husband, something he had said maybe times before. Whizzer squeezed his hand, unable to breathe as if his entire soul had been sucked out by both the news of his father’s return and the Spanish he had practically thrown up. Marvin’s hand twisted, and it seemed like everyone in the room sucked in a breath. 

 

   Marvin pulled open the door, and the two men were shown the image of an older man. He couldn’t be over sixty, his hair barely there. He was wearing a thick coat, cargo pants that went over his shoes, and untied pink laces he had most definitely stolen from one convenience store or another. Whizzer would have cooed at the adorableness of the old man if he didn’t recognize the stony brown eyes. He saw the same ones in the mirror every morning. 

 

   “Father, please leave,” Whizzer’s voice was level, and Jason curled up on himself in his position on the couch. He had never heard Whizzer speak in that way before. It was nerve-wracking. 

 

   “Micah?” The man spoke gruffly, with a thick Southern accent. He looked as though he were the opposite of Whizzer. “Micah Brown, is that you?” Whizzer’s face tightened almost like it was being pulled together.

 

   “My name is Whizzer Cohen,” Whizzer replied, no ounce of love in his voice. It was strange, since every time he spoke to one of his attending family members the amount of love in the way he spoke was almost palpable. “Get away from my apartment.” 

  
  



	2. High on Believing

_‘..I’m gonna introduce something that we’ve never really played before…’ The record fizzled as Whizzer clutched the record’s case close to his chest, lying on his back while he stared up at the peeling ceiling of their apartment in Houston. His mother was crying at the kitchen table, makeup running and dripping into her coffee as she struggled to stay awake. His father was still out somewhere, despite the fact that it was almost ten. Though usually his mom wrestled ten-year-old Whizzer into bed at around nine, she had wanted him to stay up so that his father could say goodnight. That was the first night Whizzer fought to actually be put to bed, instead of fighting to stay up. ‘Love Me Tender’ began to play, Whizzer picking at a loose thread in his hand-me-down sweater from his mother’s estranged brother. A strange thing stirred in his chest as he laid there, head against the carpeting of their living room, attempting to block out the sobs coming from the kitchen. He wondered what would happen if he just ran then and there. Maybe they’d let him go on the bus back to Nevada. He smiled softly as he imagined the door to their small, cruddy house on the outskirts of Caliente, where his bubbleh would throw open the door, beckoning him with open arms, and everything would go back to the way it was. The front door to the apartment slammed open, causing Whizzer to jolt slightly against the floor, though he was used to the loud noises. His father was never particularly quiet._

_He quickly stopped the record player, Elvis cutting out abruptly, and scurried into the hallway closet, not wanting to have to be dragged into his mother and his father’s nightly fights._

_“Where were you?” His mother’s voice was frail, though still accusatory. “You’re two hours late.” His father let out a long sigh, and through the darkness of the small closet, Whizzer could almost smell the beer on his breath. He held the record case closer to him for protection, and slunk back into the shadows, breath quickening._

_“Can’t you just get off my back for once, woman?” His father snapped, muffled through the wall, and there were footsteps. A chair pulled back against the floor loudly, his mother standing to continue the argument._

_“No, I can’t,” His mother replied snarkily. “You have a son. You have a family, now. You can’t just drown yourself in booze anymore.” His father opened the cabinet right along the outside of the thin hallway closet, and Whizzer stiffened._

_“I can do whatever the hell I want,” His father argued. “I’m the one with a job, anyway.” His mother scoffed annoyedly._  
  
“At least I’m searching for an actual job, instead of wasting our money in drug pools,” His mother slammed the cabinet shut, Whizzer jumping in his sat position against the wall. “You’re a role model now. If you don’t shape up, I’m takin’ Whizzer with me back to Nevada.”

_“I don’t like the little fucker anyway,” His father took a swig of something, that was audible enough. “You both are just burdens.” His mother’s feet slapped against the hardwood flooring, and there was a loud smash of glass against the counters of the kitchen._

_“You are the worst goddamn person I have ever met,” His mother cursed. “Do you care about anyone other than yourself? Open your fucking eyes, before you lose the only thing close to a family you have.” There was a loud slap noise, Whizzer jumping again, eyes blowing wide. Another one, his mother letting out a cry of pain. The kitchen was silent, and then there were footsteps, the front door slamming shut again. After a moment, Whizzer’s chest heaving, he snuck out of the hallway closet. His mother was cowering on the floor, holding the side of her face. There was blood on the kitchen tiles. Whizzer set down the record case, and then stepped closer to his mother, who was crying once more, softer this time._

_“Whiz,” His mother smiled at him sadly, and pulled him close to her chest. She kissed his forehead lovingly, the two clutching each other in the Texas kitchen. “You know he doesn’t mean it.” Whizzer furrowed his eyebrows, but bent to his mother’s will. Things would get better. They would have to._

**FRIDAY, 10:00 PM**

Marvin Cohen watched from the bed as his husband paced back and forth in front of him relentlessly, muttering to himself. His eyes trailed after the hunched over man, surprised at how awful his posture was in the current moment. Usually he looked as though there was a ruler stuck to his back.

“Do you at least want to sit down?” Marvin asked, grunting slightly as he pulled himself into a complete sitting position atop their quilt. Whizzer waved his hands distractedly in Marvin’s direction. “Please, our neighbors are gonna complain.”

“Why did he come back now?” Whizzer scoffed underneath his breath. “Why now? This is the happiest I’ve ever been.” He stopped and turned towards Marvin, who frowned at him sympathetically.

“Our blood families suck ass,” Whizzer groaned, and flopped face-first onto the bed, long legs still dangling off the side. Marvin rubbed his back comfortingly, as Whizzer spread his arms above his head.

“I just…” Whizzer let out a long sigh. “You know?” Marvin, after a moment of contemplating, flopped down beside him, twisting uncomfortably so that his head was resting on his shoulder and he was facing the other man.

“I know,” Marvin agreed, circling an arm around Whizzer’s waist. The taller crawled into his arms, which was strange, because usually their ‘Little Spoon, Big Spoon’ positions were switched. Marvin rubbed circles softly with his fingers into Whizzer’s back, smiling softly at him. “But don’t you see? This is a chance to really change your family. I know you struggle sometimes not having a dad, and I wish more than anything in the world that I could go back and make things right with my parents. He’s reaching out to you. That’s more than what my father ever did.” Whizzer smiled softly, tiredly at him, nuzzling into Marvin’s other hand as it crawled up to twist around in his hair.

“You’re the best husband in the world,” Whizzer muffled spoke into the quilt, and then tilted his head so that he was facing Marvin as well. The shorter pressed their lips together in a sort-of kiss, though due to their smiles it was difficult to actually kiss. The bedroom door opened.

“Oh, God, guys!” Jason covered his eyes jokingly. “And here I thought coming here meant I’d be saved from gross, couple things my parents did.” Whizzer sat up on the bed, and opened his arms to his fourteen-year-old son.

“Come on, Jas,” He wiggled his fingers. “Cuddle ‘sesh.” Marvin grimaced, crawling up beside him.

“Never say ‘sesh ever again,” He laughed, Whizzer grinning goofily at him. Jason removed his hands from over his eyes, and hugged his dad tightly. Whizzer let out an ‘oof!’ as he flopped back down onto the bed, Jason giggling childishly. Marvin, in turn, followed them down, a cuddle pile on top of the bed. Whizzer and Marvin’s eyes connected as Jason snuggled closer into his father’s chest, like he was a baby koala instead of a teenage boy.

“I’ll have breakfast with him tomorrow,” Whizzer mouthed to Marvin, who nodded in agreement, before cuddling in as well.

**SATURDAY, 10:00 AM**

Whizzer fiddled with the collar of his pale yellow sweater, rolling back on his heels as he did so. He was waiting for a table at the local breakfast place, down about two blocks from his apartment, a place he and Marvin had gone many times.

“Table for two,” The waitress, Morgan, called out to him with a knowing grin. “Where’s the husband?” Since they had been there so frequently, everyone knew everyone. It was a comforting feeling, though none of the friendly welcomes from the restaurant staff calmed the storm in his stomach.

“He’s with Jason,” Whizzer explained as they began to walk to a two-seater by a window. “I’m actually meeting my father here.” Morgan nodded, and set the menus down on the table.

“Good luck with that,” She winked, and strolled away to seat the next guests. Whizzer sighed, and slumped slightly in his seat. His fingers instinctively reached for the tea packets, and he began shifting them into color order. The chair across from him was pulled out, and down sat his father. Whizzer looked up, and then straightened himself. He pushed away the tea packets.

“Hello, Micah,” His father greeted tightly, putting on tiny glasses so that he could read the menu. Whizzer shivered slightly at the fact that both he and his estranged father’s eyesight was awful.

“It’s Whizzer, now,” His son corrected cautiously, reaching for his glasses case as well. “I go by that nickname.” His father pursed his lips, but didn’t question it.

“I see you follow after your mother quite well,” He eyed Whizzer’s darker skin, the taller recoiling slightly underneath his gaze. His father’s eyes looked owl-like behind the glasses. “She always wanted to live in New York City.”

“Yeah, well, I followed Marvin out here when we met in Oregon,” Whizzer explained, a smile appearing on his face at the mention of his husband. “He was going to law school, and I was earning my teaching degree.” His father furrowed his bushy, unkempt eyebrows.

_Whizzer was not as lucky as Cordelia in her ability to find a great college out there. He took a gap year, waved Cordelia and Charlotte, who he had come to love like a sister, off, promising to join them in time. When he was alone, though, was when he’d worry. About what to do with his life, what could be done to help, how he’d come out to his already cripplingly depressed mother. She still tried to call her parents, without any answer, and his father hadn’t reappeared. That was when Whizzer met Marvin._

_It was an encounter neither would forget, though for different reasons. While Whizzer was struggling to find a college suitable for his tastes close to his friends, Marvin was struggling with the fact that he had peaked in high school, now was living paycheck to paycheck with pregnant ex-girlfriend. Since the two had no one else, despite their dislike for one another, they stuck together in order to help each other survive. Whizzer met Marvin in the town library, and fell for his purple prose and curls instantly. In a way, he reminded him of the lesbians that had departed- Charlotte’s snide sense of humor and brains mixed with Cordelia’s clumsiness, and, of course, her curls._

_That was also around the time that Whizzer finally realized what he wanted to do with his life. He met Trina, sad Trina, hardworking Trina, a beautiful woman cursed by the fates to a life of sadness since her only friend and father of her child was gay, and her parents didn’t answer her calls. He wanted her child, Jason, to grow up with the best life he could have. He wished he could have done the same for Trina. So, when his gap year was up, he gave Marvin a plastic ring he had gotten at the skating rink, and took the two to New York City with him so that they could all get a place, raise Jason, who was now about a month old, and study to make their lives a little better._

_“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” Marvin’s breath was drenched with the smell of gas station burritos, since that was mainly what they’d been eating within the week or so they’d be traveling. Trina was still inside the store, because she was looking for baby formula to take on the road._

_“Yeah, okay Burrito Breath,” Whizzer chuckled, drumming his hands on the steering wheel as they waited for Trina to come back._

_“Seriously,” Marvin repeated, fiddling with the bright red ring hanging off his pointer finger. He had put it on while drunk, and then had been unable to take it off. “I just...I’m shocked by you everyday.” Whizzer cheekily grinned at him, showing off his pearly whites._

_“Nice to know I’m appreciated,” Whizzer replied softly, and reached over to brush a stray curl out of Marvin’s eyeline. “Compliments are costly, these days.” Marvin leaned into his touch, a grin spreading across his face as well._

_“I love you,” Marvin admitted, the words rocketing through the car. Whizzer’s hand paused for a moment, before it began to move once more against the other man’s curls. They hadn’t even gone a date, much less called one another boyfriends._

_“I love you too,” Whizzer spoke frailly, hand shaking almost violently. Trina emerged from the gas station then, Jason giggling in her arms, and Whizzer pulled back with a shaky sigh to focus on the road._

“Marvin?” His father asked, Whizzer’s smile falling from his face. “Who is Marvin? Is he the man who was beside you when you answered the door?”

“He’s my husband,” Whizzer replied tightly, his entire body clenching up. A wave of memories erupted at his father’s shocked expression. “We’ve been married for ten years. I’ve got a kid with him.” His father stammered for a moment, completely taken back.

“What-a kid? A kid with him?” He stammered. “You’re married to a man, you’re living in New York City with a teaching degree, with a kid, and you never bothered to tell me?”

“You were never there for me,” Whizzer hissed angrily, hands clenching around his menu. “You drank and you hit my mother and you dealt with more gangs than I could think of. You were the worst father a kid could have, and yet I’ve grown up to be one of three fathers a kid could have and that kid loves me.”

“What’s the kid’s name?” His father asked, Whizzer leaning back in his seat, allowing some of the anger to flow out of him. He needed to calm down for this to work.

“Jason,” Whizzer told him shortly. “He isn’t mine. He’s Marvin’s. His ex-girlfriend was already pregnant when he met me.” His father almost spit out his drink.

“He was dating a woman?” His eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion, before his face hardened and he realized what that meant. Whizzer shrugged, and took a sip of the water that had, at one point, been brought to him.

“Not like I haven’t,” Whizzer replied stonily. “We both have parents who don’t understand how to deal with gay sons.”

_Whizzer Brown’s first girlfriend, and the last (unsurprisingly) was his best friend, Cordelia Baker. Her family owned a kosher bakery on the main street of the small, insignificant Oregon town Whizzer and his mother had moved to. They would put in old cassettes Whizzer would find in the boxes his mother attempted to hide in their constantly flooding basement into an old jukebox they’d discovered at the town dump, and sit by the ocean while listening to Tears for Fears and barely understandable movie soundtracks. He had arrived in Oregon about four years before, as a small twelve-year-old who liked to stare at the shirtless ads on the subway, and they’d clicked instantly. Cordelia was a loner in a small school, where there was only about twenty kids in their grade, and she was in desperate need for someone to speak to. She usually went too overboard with sharing secrets and talking about things Whizzer was uncomfortable with, like his dad or Nevada or his grandparents - or anything, really. Especially how much Whizzer liked watching Grease 2._

_“Who’re gonna ask to the Fall Ball, Whiz?” Cordelia asked him one darkening August night, before school had officially started. They had ridden their bikes to a more secluded part of the beachside, so that they could both sit on the rocks and rest the jukebox on one._

_“No one,” Was his standard reply, too distracted by attempting to clean out the dirt underneath his nails with his braces. “There’s no one to go with.” Cordelia pursed her lips, and shifted in her spot, holding herself up so that only the tips of her toes touched the chilled water below them. Since the sun was setting, it wasn’t hot enough to really want to swim, as they usually did during the summer._

_“You could go with me,” She spoke, not meeting his widened eyes when he whipped his head in her direction. She, instead, chose to wiggle her toes, causing ripples through the slowing waves._

_“What? Delia!” He let out a clackle. “But I’ve never...and you haven’t...I don’t like you that way.” Cordelia finally looked up with her rather owlike eyes, big and blue, her blond curls stringy from when they had jumped in about an hour before._

_“I know,” She replied coolly, as she always did. “I don't like you like that either. Frankly, I’d rather go with Heather Macintosh, or anyone else, for that matter. But she’s already dating Cody Major, so you’re my second choice.” Whizzer stammered for a moment, hit by two surprising facts at once._

_“You wanna take a girl to the Fall Ball?” He asked her out of shock, standing up on the rocks carefully, already knowing which ones would send him slipping into the sea accidentally._

_“Isn’t it obvious?” Cordelia frowned, oblivious to his freaking out. She stood up as well, slightly taller despite Whizzer’s attempts to gain that extra inch, and held out her necklace so that he’d be able to see it. She cracked open the locket to reveal a photo of a short, chubby black girl, smiling at the camera lovingly. “Her name is Charlotte DuBois. She goes to the all-girl school up the way.” Whizzer watched his best friend in worry._

_“Are you - are you two going steady, or something?” He questioned, Cordelia giggling in response. She clasped the locket back together, and let it drop down to her pale skin._  
  
“We were set up for that stupid, shitty penpal thing last year in Miss Greenberg’s class,” Cordelia explained with an eye roll, and began to step carelessly around on the rocks. She reached out with one foot, and poked the ‘skip’ button on the jukebox. Whizzer followed dutifully, though much more carefully, and slower than her. “And then we just kinda… clicked. You know? I think she’s the one.”

_“The one?” Whizzer raised an eyebrow. “You do know that your parents’ll probably kill you if they figure out about Mrs. Charlotte Duwhatever.” Cordelia scowled at him playfully, and then shrugged, a beautiful smile spreading across her face as she began to walk backwards on the sand._

_“We’re gonna run away after senior year for New York City,” Cordelia explained softly, voice overflowing with love. “She’s gonna go to medical school, and me to Culinary. You’ll come too, obviously.” She shoved Whizzer’s shoulder lightly._

_“And hopefully find a girl to keep you company besides two lesbians,” Cordelia grinned goofily, and Whizzer wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his shorts._

_“Or a guy,” Whizzer spoke before he realized what he was saying. His freckles moved with the dimples around his mouth as he stumbled back. Cordelia shot him a shocked look, and then smiled at him supportively._

_“Isn’t this funny?” She snickered, and walked back onto the rocks, where he had paused, to hug him tightly. “Two gays alone in rural Oregon. At least we’ve found each other.” Whizzer’s shoulders shook as he sunk into her embrace, and began to sob loudly into her shirt. Though she’d never admit it, and Whizzer would never say he saw, but Cordelia had started to cry as well. There they stood, “Friday’s I’m in Love” playing in the background, and they agreed to cover up one another’s apparent homosexuality until their escape to New York City._

**SATURDAY, 4:00 PM**

Hours after he had arrived home from the mess of a breakfast, Whizzer pushed away the idea of chugging down the Advil pills resting on his sink just to avoid talking about how angry he was with Marvin. After all, his husband was not the physciatrist of the family. But, to his surprise, Marvin didn’t mention the breakfast Whizzer still hadn’t really talked about. He just got on the tips of his toes, kissed his forehead sweetly as Whizzer snuck deeper into their couch (where he had been since he had gotten back four hours before), and wandered into the bedroom to get changed for their weekly family dinner at the DuBois’ apartment. As Whizzer buttoned up his shirt by the front door, waiting impatiently for his son and his husband to finally be ready to leave, his eyes landed on the phone.

A desperate voice in the back of his mind called out to him, to pick up the phone and dial the number of the hotel his father was staying at. Perhaps there was a chance for their relationship to be fixed. Sighing heavily, Whizzer slumped against the wall, recalling the memories of times where he’d spend hours by the phone, fighting with himself on whether or not to call his father. Suddenly, he was reaching out, and his fingers skimmed across the buttons on the phone before he could stop himself. His heart was pounding in his chest. The phone rang in his ear, and then he slammed it down right as his father answered. His father was not part of his family anymore. He never was, really.

“What’s up with you?” Jason asked as he emerged, Marvin following with a knowing expression on his face. He pressed a wet kiss to Whizzer’s cheek, who grimaced playfully, and wiped it off. The trio giggled, and left the apartment. Whizzer’s heart, surprisingly, felt lighter than it had been before. Perhaps it would be alright to live his life without a father. As long as he was a good one to Jason. He rested a hand on the tall boy’s shoulder as they knocked on the lesbians’ apartment door, and smiled a real smile for the first time that day. Marvin caught his eye, and squeezed his arm around Whizzer’s waist as though they were posing for a family portrait. The door flung open, and Whizzer decided to forget about his father for the time being. His real family was more important. 


	3. Talking In Your Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why, but it was really difficult to push myself to write this chapter (i've been focusing a lot on other projects, i guess)  
> anyway this end is shit

_Whizzer’s father gave him a cigarette when he was eleven. The small boy had just gotten home from school, where he walked every day, despite the dangerous neighborhood he and his parents lived in. His father was smoking on the couch, the gray smoke surrounding his features, clouding them, clouding the rest of their apartment. It made Whizzer cough before he had even gotten to the living room._

_“Hey, Micah,” His father greeted in a grumbly voice, Whizzer dropping his bag by the door and slipping off his shoes. He seemed to be the only one who did that nowadays._

_“Hello, father,” Whizzer replied as he had been taught by his mother, though he did not step into the living room any further than he felt he had to. Ever since the night he had heard his father’s hand connect with his mother’s face, seen her blood on the kitchen floor, her tears against his shirt, he refused to ever attempt to trust his father again. There was no one he could trust nearby anymore._

_“Come over here, Micah,” His father grumbled something as he stretched into a sitting position on their ratty old couch. Whizzer, after a moment of hesitation, tentatively crept towards his father, the smoke filling his head and clogging up his brain. It hurt._

_“What?” Whizzer questioned, furrowing his dark eyebrows at the cigarette clutched lazily in his father’s hand. His father shot a jackal grin down at him, one that sent a quiver throughout the small boy beside him. He didn’t trust that man._

_“Here, Micah,” His father took his unoccupied hand, and unfolded one of Whizzer’s small ones, then placed the cigarette on his palm. “That’s a cigarette.” Whizzer stared at it, at the contrast between his tan skin and his father’s pale fingers. The cigarette burned, and his fingers shifted to clutch it awkwardly._

_“Go on,” His father gestured, very obviously drunk. Scared of what might occur if Whizzer did not follow what his dad told him to do, he put the cigarette to his lips. Instantly, he was drawing it back, coughing wildly. The smoke filled his lungs, crying out to the sky, the smoke darkening the air around him. His father was laughing crazily at his reaction to the cigarette, Whizzer watching it in horror. After a moment, the eleven-year-old’s face hardened, and he jabbed the cigarette stump right against his father’s bare thigh, burning his skin. His father’s laughter turned to frightened screams of pain, as Whizzer pressed the cigarette down harder, causing a burn mark._

_He stopped once he came back from whatever he had floated into, a dreamy state of mind at the pride he gained out of hurting his father. He certainly deserved it. A sick feeling crept into his stomach._

_But Whizzer remembered, rather distantly, he was not strong and able to fight back. Dropping the cigarette onto their gross carpet, he raced off, small feet pitting against the floor in terror. He could hear his dad’s hurt screams, like an animal in pain, and the curses he was throwing in the direction of his running son. Whizzer ran into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him, holding his back to it. His father was on him in a matter of minutes, drunkenly battering the door with his fists, screaming for Whizzer to come out and get his punishment. Sobbing to himself, Whizzer attempted to clear the smoke from his head, from his soul and waited until his father fell asleep and he could finally feel safe again._

**SUNDAY, 8:00 AM**

Whizzer Brown’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of a large car alarm down on the street below. Though their curtains were thick, they were not heavy enough to block out both noise and some amount of the sunlight. Marvin was draped across him, head resting on his chest, arm sprawled over his ribcage and snoring obnoxiously. Whizzer reached up a hand, and trailed it down the back of Marvin’s spine, his breath coming to a normal speed once more. It had quickened rather fastly due to the flashbacks of what he once was. The hand stopped for a moment and then started again, though his fingers were shaking. The man sprawled beside him was a man for whom he felt too much love in his heart. Watching Marvin’s mouth puff out small bursts of air made him realize that he needed to call his father.

Wrestling himself from his husband’s grasp, despite the grunt from his general direction, a wave of deja vu washed over Whizzer while he climbed to sit on the edge of his bed. He felt hollow, an echo of his original self in his chest.

“What are you doing, Whiz?” Marvin mumbled into his pillow, turning his head to eye the back of his husband.

“I have to call my father,” He whispered into the darkness, hanging his head, a pounding in his chest. Marvin’s hand skimmed his waist, not able to reach out farther than that, his cold fingers brushing against his skin.

“Come back to bed,” Marvin murmured, and then slumped to a seated position, wrapping his arms around Whizzer’s waist. He pulled them together softly, comfortingly, resting his forehead onto his husband’s. Neither spoke for a moment.

“I have to,” Whizzer urged, the sick feeling from his memories rolling up again in his chest. “I have to. I need…” He drifted off, not finishing his sentence. Marvin took his hand, entangling their fingers, and held them up to Whizzer’s cheek, caressing the soft skin there with his calloused hands.

“You don’t need to do anything, Whiz,” Marvin told him carefully, reaching up with his other hand to touch Whizzer’s other cheek, stroke his unstyled wavy hair, trace over freckles that spotted his cheeks. “I've noticed what seeing him does to you. He doesn’t deserve a son like you.” Whizzer began to cry, the first time he had allowed himself to throughout the weekend. The tears dripped onto Marvin’s fingers, Whizzer’s bottom lip, the taller hitching at every breath and shaking in his spot.

“He used to hit my mother and me,” Whizzer told Marvin’s curls, as the shorter had sunk into a tight embrace, his head buried in Whizzer’s chest. “That’s why we only stayed with him for a few years or so. It was too difficult to deal with.” He paused, tears spilling onto his husband’s dark hair.

“Once I found my mother unconscious on the floor,” Whizzer admitted quietly. “I don’t like to think about it. But I remember the night we left for Oregon.” He blinked away tears, resting his chin on Marvin’s head, who did not speak. Somehow, that seemed better to Whizzer than apologizes.

_Whizzer’s mother had set a bag on Whizzer’s bed. Not in his bedroom, since he didn’t really have one, but on his bed. It was empty, yet Whizzer suspected what to do with it. He piled up the last bits of his clothes, his few comic books, and a phone book he had stolen from his Bubby's before they left. Zipping up the bag, he realized how small it truly was, and fought back tears. In Nevada, though they were poor, he had certainly had more than this. Now, the bag was only half-full. He missed Nevada dearly. Flinging the bag over his shoulders, he turned around to see his father watching him with a cold stare from the kitchen, leaning back on the counter, a cigarette between his lips._

_He spoke not a word, only watched Whizzer swallow roughly, and drift a hand up to the bruises lining one side of his cheek. His arms were much more damaged, due to the pulling he had gone through more than once, but that was easier to cover up. He had to lie to the few friends he had in school that they were just from his clumsiness. His mother appeared out of the bathroom then, holding her own small backpack, filled with the rest of their things. She scooped up Whizzer into her arms, despite the fact that both were more feeble than they had been before, and Whizzer was a tall twelve-year-old. She narrowed her eyes at her old lover, who did the same from the kitchen, keeping far away from his family._

_“Goodbye,” She clenched through her teeth, cradling Whizzer’s head in one hand, the other holding him up. She backed towards the door, still keeping eye contact with the man in the kitchen as if worried he might attack from behind once she turned. His mother backed into the front door, and Whizzer reached down to turn the knob for her. She shot a thankful smile his way, and then rushed out the apartment door. There were footsteps behind them. Whizzer’s mother clutched him close, Whizzer watching over his shoulder as his father stumbled from the apartment, boozed up, his cigarette still in between his fingers, yelling something at him Whizzer didn’t want to understand. His mother raced down the outdoor stairs, and then hopped into the parking lot, heading towards their beat-up pickup. It was the only thing from Nevada they still had._

_His mother tossed him into the passenger seat and then jumped in front of the steering wheel, shutting the door behind her. She locked the door behind them then, and the two watched with bated breath as Whizzer’s father quickened his pace, and ran across the parking lot towards them. His mother started the junky old car, the truck groaning as she screeched from the spot and drove out, away from the apartment. Whizzer watched out the window, the dust from the truck covering his screaming father, covering his view of his past life. Suddenly, his heart was lifted a bit more than it usually was._

**SUNDAY, 10:00 AM**

Whizzer dialed the hotel’s number with quivering fingers, his husband and son singing rather obnoxiously along to a Journey record Marvin had put on. It had been Jason’s pick since they had gone down to a used record store a few days back, and that was the one he had purchased. The phone rang in Whizzer’s shaking hand, and then finally the receptionist for the hotel picked up the phone.

“Will you please direct me to Steven Brown? His room number is, I think, 307,” Whizzer told her, waiting with bated breath. He glanced over to the apartment kitchen, smiling softly at Marvin bopping in the kitchen, his son dancing as dorkily as he was. In times like this, they seemed so alike. It made Whizzer long for a father even more.

“I’m sorry, that man checked out yesterday night,” The receptionist informed him. Whizzer’s eyes widened, as she continued to speak. His ears rang. He set the phone back into its holster, the room spinning. His father had given up on him a second time. A final time. He shook his head at the phone. Marvin seemed to sense his sadness, as he turned and frowned in Whizzer’s direction.

“What’s wrong? Did he not answer?” Marvin asked him. Whizzer watched him, watched his husband, light in his eyes, his face seemingly the same it had been when they had first met. His heart was filled with overwhelming love.  
  
“He didn’t,” Whizzer told him, and his sadness disapparated suddenly. “But it’s okay.” Marvin hugged him tightly, Whizzer stumbling back, and then he laughed. Somehow, the pressure of his father and his childhood memories seemed to drift off, away, so that it was no longer such a burden. Marvin chuckled, and then joined in, a hand against Whizzer’s cheek, his husband's feet lifting off the ground.

“‘Marvin!” Whizzer cackled, smiling at the fact that he was no longer young, no longer tied up in things he could not control. Marvin scooped him up and twirled him around like on their wedding day. Jason watched from the kitchen, smiling, his two fathers entwined together.

“Are you okay, Whiz?” Marvin dropped him down, and Whizzer’s smiled faded just slightly before he squeezed his husband’s arms comfortingly.

“I think I will be,” Whizzer told him and shared a smile with his son, who was still in the kitchen, bouncing on the back of his heels since the record was still playing. "I think I will be."


End file.
